


Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow

by malexita



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F, I tried to keep the POVs as neutral as possible, POV Multiple, There's not right or wrong interpretation of who's who in all the sections except the last one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malexita/pseuds/malexita
Summary: Post season 1, probably even post season 2. The last fight between the Army/Spree coalition and the Camarilla.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything for a long time. Even longer, as far as works in english are concerned. Still, this idea would not leave me alone.  
> The title of the fic comes from Sappho's "[Hymn to Aphrodite](http://www.greatbookssummer.com/programs/samplereadings/sappho/)".
> 
> A very big thanks to [booklover81](https://booklover81.tumblr.com/) for being my beta! This would not be here if it wasn't for her!

Darkness and light battling each other as if the end of the world itself was taking place right before her eyes.

Darkness. All encompassing, pressing down on everything. On everyone.  
Light. So bright it hurt the eyes of all those that could still keep them open.

Nothing made sense to her, not even the gloom that seemed to settle on the field of battle once the explosion, so similar to the one she witnessed all those months ago in the Altai Mountains and yet so different, expended all its energy.

The battered bodies, Army and Spree alike, were renewed while the Camarilla’s operatives, the Enemy that they’ve been battling for what seemed like forever, laid dead all around them. Some were just laying there as if simply slumbering; others were horribly mangled, unrecognizable beyond belief.

She glanced at one of her best friends, one of her sisters, but none of them had words. Because how can you describe something like that? How can you describe death and life happening right before your eyes, feeding off each other? 

In front of them, the two women at the center of the explosion, untouched.  
Behind them, the incredulity of those who fought beside them.

* * *

She can’t look away from the eyes that seem to be staring into her very soul, a look that she’s very much reciprocating. Blue met blue when her life was hanging on the balance, waiting to become death to become life again.

Months of… something, culminating in the need to be there. To protect. To save.  
She remembers the first weeks, full of stilted conversations, hidden truths and anger – at the world, the Army, the Spree. No one was safe, nothing was left untouched. Then one day, while the others were still asleep, a simple coffee became the savior of a friendship that never really existed, until it did.

They didn’t move past it, no matter how much Tally tried to close the gap, no matter how much Abigail would roll her eyes and told them to just “get it over with” with her usual no-nonsense attitude that hid the true depth of her feelings for her sisters.

And now, here they were. With the love that caused so much pain before finally breaking through walls upon walls of everything they couldn’t say. All because of a body, lying unmoving on the ground, a man with a wicked looking scythe posed over it, ready to strike.

He didn’t see her, creeping behind him, silent and deadly. He went down without a fight, without even being really aware of what killed him, the scourge lying on the ground beside him, forgotten, once she was sure he would not get up again.

Hand closing around hand, whispers of words that no one else could hear and then the memories. A kiss in the moonlight, the sound of tornadoes crushing wall after wall of solid concrete, confessions in the golden light of a perfect May’s morning, the warm feeling of love that couldn’t really be contained. But also the pain of lies, of death. The longing for a time when everything was simpler, if not more truthful.

She knew it could happen again. Logically, it would make sense… but nothing could have prepared her for the explosion that followed, when darkness and light battled for dominance only to settle for the balance of an overcast sky, when life and death intertwined irrevocably, different but oh so similar, the two sides of the same coin.

* * *

It was over. Finally, incredibly. And now, they were untouchable. All four of them, because surely if only two could do all that, then the four of them together would be unbeatable.  
They had secured their future without really trying, too worried about surviving today to think about tomorrow.  
They would still fight for the future of all those that follow them, to end the conscription that no one, except for the Spree, had the guts of calling with its name: legalized slavery. But for now, they were safe.

Anacostia and Izadora watched from the sidelines as Alder congratulated the Unit that she wanted to eradicate so long ago, and while not entirely genuine in her speech, the underlying respect in her voice could not be missed.

They’d probably never know exactly what it was, in the connection with the Mycelium, that allowed for this to happen, but it didn’t matter.  
What mattered was that it was over. That their cadets, their soldiers, made it out alive. And while too many died at the hands of the Ancient Enemy, many more survived.

All because, one day, a stubborn fixer fell in love with a weird necro.


End file.
